


Black Roses

by ifishouldvanish



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gold and Lacey are kind of supposed to be villain protagonists, LMAO, Outlaw Motorcycle Club AU, and other forms of criminal activity, drug and weapons trading, mentions of gang violence, that sort of thing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-09-22 21:58:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9627215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifishouldvanish/pseuds/ifishouldvanish
Summary: Lacey is the president of Storybrooke’s notorious Black Roses Motorcycle Club. Rhys Gold is the manipulative lawyer who helps cover the club’s tracks in exchange for a fee. After Lacey’s mother is murdered by a rival MC leader, Gold goes out of his way to ensure she gets her revenge on the killer.Doing this as a series of drabbles, apparently.





	1. Regret

**Author's Note:**

> Gold and Lacey are kind of awful people in this 'verse. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

“Going down with the ship, I see.”

Lacey stops plucking peanuts out of the dish and looks over her shoulder across the now-abandoned establishment, and smiles. “Bound to happen sooner or later.”

Gold hitches over behind the bar and pours himself a glass of scotch. “You could run.”

She scoffs and pops another handful of peanuts into her mouth. “And wind up like you?” She snorts. “No thanks.”

He tops off her glass and comes back around, settling into the stool beside her with a huff. “You don't have to go to prison, Lacey.”

“You know what-- you're right.” She laughs. “I could get on my bike and ride it off a fucking cliff.”

Gold hikes his brows and shrugs.

“You wanna ride bitch?” She asks. “We can Thelma and Louise it.”

He sighs and stares into his glass. “It wouldn't be running, so much as… relocating. Establishing a new charter.”

Lacey’s tempted to roll her eyes. She made the MC her life and it cost her everything. Why in God’s name would she want to do it again? She decides to ignore the suggestion entirely. “Did you ever think, that maybe things could have been different?”

“Different how?”

“Don’t play fuckin’ stupid, Gold. Us. You and me.”

Gold sips his scotch and scoffs. “No use thinking about it now.”

“That's not an answer.”

“Just what are you looking for, exactly?” He asks. “For me to-- to tell you that all those times in your office with the door locked and the shade drawn were because I cared? That I loved you?”

“Did you?”

“Would it matter?”

“Considering we're both about to be dragged to prison for the rest of our lives, never to see each other again--  _ yeah. _ It might be a comfort to know that at least this,” she gestures between them, “meant something.”

“Speak for yourself, Miss French. Conspiracy and money laundering? I'll probably get ten years, fifteen tops.”

“Fuck you!” She snaps.

He throws his hands up in surrender, rolling his eyes.

Lacey stares down at her glass and sighs. “...I did.”

Gold slouches. “I'm sorry?”

She glares at him for a moment, then laughs. “Sometimes... I would think,  _ what would I be doing right now, if it wasn't for the club? _ If all this shit just never happened? If things were normal.”

“Honestly?” Gold wets his lips and smirks. “My best guess-- managing a 7-Eleven.”

“...Probably,” she snorts. “But sometimes I would imagine that I went to school. Studied something, got a real job. I dunno. But it was like-- no matter how much shit I changed in my head, no matter how far back down the line of bad decisions I went, in the end you were always there.”

“Well, I do have a tendency to show up where I'm not wanted.” He deadpans.

Lacey huffs out a laugh. “Wanna hear something fucking embarrassing?”

“Sure.”

“I had this recurring dream for a while. We were married. And we were happy. In love. Had a kid and everything.”

“Happily married? To me?” Gold scoffs and takes a sip of his scotch. “That  _ is _ embarrassing.”

“You never thought about us like that?”

He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs.

“What if we  _ both  _ ran?” She says. “Together.”

“And where would we go?”

“I dunno.” Lacey shrugs. “Anywhere.”

Before she can elaborate, police sirens begin wailing in the distance. Gold straightens his posture and groans.

“Afraid it's too late for that, sweetheart.”

“Then just kiss me.” She says, taking his hand.

Gold looks her in the eyes for a moment and leans in tentatively, wetting his lips.

“Make it good this time.” She teases. “I got a life sentence coming.”

“...I did.” He finally admits, dragging his fingers along her cheek. “I do. Love you.”

He slides his hand behind her neck, pulling her close, and slants his lips over hers.

The sirens grow louder, but Lacey pays no mind to them, because she's already accepted her fate. All she has now is this moment-- this kiss. He smells and tastes like whiskey and cigarettes-- same as always, but this time it's so much more. It's the kiss she's always wanted, but never been given-- deep and passionate, yet tender and sweet. The culmination of everything they've been through together. The robberies, the murders, the cover-ups, the secrets and the lies that they've shared, and the people that they've lost.

They part to catch their breath, and exchange a look. A look of recognition, of the wasted potential. That all this time, they could have had  _ this.  _ Lacey pulls him back in, hungry for more of it-- whatever it is. She wants to remember the way his lips feel on hers, the way he tastes, the way he smells, way he feels, the look on his face when he said the words,  _ I do love you,  _ and the one on his face now as they part for the last time.

“...Write me.” Lacey says. The windows darken as the police close in and she stares outside for a moment, listening to the slamming of car doors and the stamping of feet. Giving Gold's hand a gentle squeeze, she looks back and at him and smiles weakly. “When you get out-- visit me?” She says as the doors burst open and the team of officers comes flooding inside.

Gold answers her with a nod before they swarm in and wrestle her to the ground.


	2. Awake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I started with an ending. Here's the beginning.

Lacey looks up from the closed casket when she feels a warm hand rest on her shoulder. She draws a sharp breath and inhales the familiar scent of Mr Gold’s cologne– musky, woody base notes layered beneath herbaceous, floral ones. Despite the circumstances, the scent of her mother’s most trusted confidant doesn’t fail to provoke a tight feeling in her belly.

Mr Gold had been advising Colette for years. Memories of him coming and going from their home trace as far back as her adolescence, long before she was patched in. Well, perhaps impressions, rather than memories– The sound of his voice with his thick accent, traces of his cologne left on the armchair he seemed to favor during his visits, fleeting glimpses of him whispering things to her mother when her father would step away to the bathroom or to the fridge for another beer. She was always told to go to her room when Mr Gold would visit– _“no club business until you’re patched in–”_ but Lacey’s fascination with him has always run deep. He’s just so different from the rest of the club. He isn't even _part_ of the club, technically– yet he has so much influence on it. Lacey typically grew bored of people after enough time, but after she was patched in, participating in those conversations between him and her mother only heightened her interest.

Lacey has spent her life surrounded by bikers. The essence of well-worn, patched leather, the smell of gasoline, the intoxicating fumes from an exhaust pipe, the omnipresent smell of alcohol on her friends and family. But Mr Gold is a different class of person entirely, and it draws her to him like a moth to a flame. His tailored suits, his refined speech. The club is full of violent, hot-headed criminals prone to bar fights and drug abuse. Mr Gold is a criminal, and Lacey doesn't doubt that he is violent– after all, one _has_ to be to work as closely with the Black Roses as he does– But he's cold, calculating. A chess master among pub brawlers.

“Please.” He says, his fingers digging into her shoulder slightly as he gives her a reassuring squeeze. “Accept my deepest condolences, Lacey. Your mother… she was truly an astounding woman.”

His hands are rough and calloused against her smooth skin, and Lacey has never been able to figure out why. Mr Gold is the kind of man who never allows himself to lift a finger– always hiding behind a hired hand or a carefully played pawn, someone masterfully twisted and warped into believing the foul deed was their idea all along. For everything he knows about the members of the Black Roses, Lacey can admit she knows nearly nothing about him. She's gleaned small details over the years– an estranged lover, a lost son– but the man still remains a mystery to be uncovered, layer by layer.

She clears her throat. “Yeah, she was.” She's tempted to shrug him off, but thinks better of it– finding some inexplicable favor in letting his hand linger on her shoulder a while longer.

“You certainly have big shoes to fill, but ah… I have the utmost confidence in your ability to get the club through these trying times.” His thumb rubs to and fro across her nape, and Lacey feels her hair stand on its ends. “You're resourceful, intelligent.” He says. Lacey senses him shifting a little behind her, and the length of his hair drapes over her shoulder, followed by the warmth of his breath. “Your mother always spoke highly of you during our little chats. She trusted in your ability to lead, Lacey.”

She swallows and nods as he pulls away. Her tongue is dry and all she can manage is, “Thanks.”

“It’s… a terrible shame she was taken from you like this.” He says, his voice suddenly deeper and more firm.

Picking up on the cue, Lacey turns around to meet his eyes.

“Have you decided how you’ll handle the retaliation?” He asks.

Lacey clenches her teeth. The palm of her hand is beginning to sweat where it rests on the polished wood of the casket and she slowly drags it away in favor of making a fist. “Not yet.”

“Very well. But you must remember to act quickly.” He says. “Everyone’s watching the Roses right now, Lacey. You’re new leadership and how you act now will send a very powerful message. Hesitation will only read as weakness.”

She lets out a long, deep sigh. “I know.”

“I know it’s hard– not having time to mourn.” He acknowledges. “But there’ll be time for that. Being president means always pushing forward. All of these people are depending on you. They’re nervous, they’re scared– Be strong for them.”

“The club always comes first.” she says, repeating the mantra.

“As long as you remember that, Lacey.” Gold nods, resting both hands on his cane and straightening his posture. “That was your father’s mistake– he forgot the most important thing.”

“Greedy bastard.” She scoffs.

“Your mother was devastated by his betrayal. But she never forgot what it meant to be a leader.”

Lacey looks back at the casket and nibbles her lip. She rests her fist on it and sighs. “I just– I could fuckin’ kill her with my bare hands, Gold.”

“Believe me– _I know the feeling.”_ He mutters, barring his teeth.

Lacey looks into his eyes and she can see it. The violence that she’s always known was there. More than that, she can _feel it._

“I want to choke the bitch to death.” She says, letting the anger course through her veins. “I want it to be slow and painful.”

The corner of his mouth twitches upwards into a knowing little smirk and Lacey furrows her brows.

“Lacey,” he says, wetting his lips, “have you considered–” He cuts himself off and chuckles to himself. It’s as if he holds a juicy secret, and wants to savor it one last time before letting it be known.

“...What?”

“Perhaps Miss Greene deserves worse.” He suggests, looking distantly out the window and beyond the lineup of familiar motorcycles outside.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m talking about–” he fixes his gaze on the casket and glides a hand reverently across the smooth surface. “...A fate worse than death.”

Lacey watches the satisfied little grin bloom across his face and frowns. No doubt he’s already plotting and scheming the best way to give Zelena what she deserves. But Mr Gold plays a long game and he said it himself– retaliation needs to be swift and strong. Before she can say anything, he clears his throat and faces her.

“I’ll ah… leave you two,” he says with a tight-lipped smile, giving her shoulder another light squeeze.

Lacey holds her breath as she watches him hitch out the door. It closes gently behind him and she inhales slowly, the scent of his cologne flooding her senses and the heat coiling in her belly once again.


	3. Treason

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is way too long to be a 'drabble' but oh well /shrug

 Mr Gold looks up from his ledger books when he hears the familiar sound of a motorcycle pulling up to his shop. One can never be too sure however– so he quickly scribbles down his latest sum on the bottom line and tosses the more incriminating of the two books into his safe and away from prying eyes. He hears the bell jingle above his front door, immediately followed by the heavy clunking of leather boots on the hardwood floors. They fall at a steady, comfortable pace and he eases his shoulders.

“Back here, Miss French.” He says, crossing his office over to his liquor cabinet. He hears the whisper of the heavy curtain being drawn and looks over his shoulder to receive his guest with a little smile.

“I uh… thought about what you said.” Lacey says, sauntering up his desk and hoisting herself up on its surface.

He removes the cap from a large decanter and pours them each a measure of whiskey, as per their custom. Mr Gold enjoys her little trips to the shop, and he doesn't mind having an excuse to drink, either. For all of the networking he does under the table and all the discrete deals he arranges with the town's more corruptible citizens, Lacey French is one of few people he might actually consider something of a friend. At the very least, she seems to have taken a personal interest in him beyond the standard, _ 'Gold, I fucked up– can you fix it?’ _

“In regard to what?”

“Retaliation.”

Gold hitches back over to the desk and hands her her glass. “Is that right?”

“You were right on both counts.” She says and takes a swig. “It needs to send a strong message. But death is too good for her.”

He slumps into his chair and sips his drink. “I take it you’ve found a compromise, then?”

“Yup.” Lacey twists around to face him, her legs dangling off the front of the desk before him.

Lacey's a petite woman, but her legs seem to extend endlessly nonetheless. Gold watches as they sway back and forth, crossing and uncrossing, and if he didn't know any better, he'd swear she was  _ letting _ him look. She rests her arm across her lap, and her fingertips drag across her smooth, pale skin before tracing along the raw hem of her cutoff shorts. He sips his drink again, letting the alcohol burn down his throat before the thought of reaching out and touching her– caressing her legs, can take root.

“Her VP.” She finally says. “Dottie Gale?”

Gold gives a half-shrug. “I’m listening.”

“Zelena Greene took my family from me. I’m going to take hers.”

The corner of his mouth twitches with anticipation and he takes a swig of his whiskey to ground himself. “That sounds… fair.” He says calmly, wetting his lips. “How will you do it? How will you get close enough?”

“Oh, just turning up the old French family charm.” She says, batting her lashes.

Gold deflates and rolls his eyes. “That’s it? That’s your master plan?”

“What?”

“Lacey– it’s ridiculous. She’s not going to come tap dancing on a bear trap just because it has pretty blue eyes and a nice pair of legs!”

Lacey swills down the rest of her drink and sets the heavy glass on his desk. The tip of her tongue pokes out and sweeps along her upper lip, and the image of that tongue slipping against his own flashes in his mind’s eye. How it might feel, how it might taste. He wills the thought away with a heavy blink.

“You think I have pretty blue eyes and a nice pair of legs?” She asks, sinking her teeth into her plump bottom lip.

He clenches his jaw and looks away, setting his drink down with a heavy thud. His finger rapidly taps against the glass with all his years of unspent energy, anxiety, and simmering rage.

“I’m joking.” Lacey assures him, nudging his thigh with the toe of her boot. “Thanks to Red, that part’s already been taken care of for months now. In fact, it’s  _ all  _ been taken care of.”

He coughs. Could go for a cigarette. “You killed her already?”

“Nope. We don’t have to. She talked.”

“Why would she do that?” Gold asks skeptically. “The Emeralds will have her branded a traitor– They’ll vote to kill her as soon as they find out.”

Lacey bites down on her lip, fighting a smile, and shakes her head. “Not if it’s mutiny.”

Gold raises a brow.

“As it turns out, Zee’s crew doesn’t like her any more than we do.”

“And you’re going to help with the coup?”

“Something like that.”

“All due respect President, but if the Emeralds are already unanimous in planning an insurrection, what’s your contribution? What the hell do they need you for? It's not retribution if they do all the bloody work themselves.”

Lacey raises her arms, flexes her biceps, and giggles. “Big guns,” says, practically bowling herself over.

Gold watches with a crooked, thoroughly amused smile. “So you’re just going to hand your enemies a shipment of ARs?” He scoffs. “Hm,  _ what could possibly go wrong...” _

“No!” She laughs. “See, the thing holding them back is that Zee’s the one with all the connections on hardware– They knock her down, their deal with Hadrian falls through and they got nothing. And trust me, it’ll be fine– they'll be delivering first.”

Gold buys himself a moment to mull it over with a few sips of whiskey before giving a slight nod of approval. “A move like that puts an end to the mess your father got us in... and gets the witch out of the way without risking any blood on our hands.”

“Mhm! One hand washes the other or whatever.”

“What will  _ they  _ do to her though?”

“Vote her out, strip her patch, kick her to the curb.” Lacey shrugs. “Who gives a shit? She’ll have nothing.”

“I must say, Miss French– it’s an elegant solution; turning a rivalry into a partnership.” It's precisely the sort of thing that can't be manipulated into place, not even by  _ him. _ At least, not so quickly– but as far as retribution from the club is concerned, time is definitely of the essence. “I take it Miss Gale will be stepping in as President?”

“Not exactly. After all the fucked up shit Zee’s pushed them into? They don’t want to be associated the Emerald name whatsoever. Dottie’ll be starting a new club.”

“Ah. Looking to clean up their image, are they? Something not synonymous with–” he pauses to take a heavy swig of his whiskey. “...sex trafficking and torture porn?”

“Yup. Zee’s whole legacy goes down the shitter.” Lacey assures. “Her reign of terror ends, the Emeralds are no more, and she gets to live with the knowledge that her own crew left her to team up with her sworn enemies.”

Gold stares off distantly and sips his drink again. He supposes Zelena Greene being betrayed by her own people and thrust out on her own, left to the dogs, without any allies for miles is everything he could hope to expect, really.  However, it doesn't seem to do much to quench his thirst for justice. Perhaps it just needs to happen, he tells himself.

“What?” Lacey frowns, picking up on his lack of enthusiasm. “You don’t like it?”

“Oh– no.” He shakes his head and sets his glass down. “It’s ah… definitely a start.”

“Oh, come on!” She groans, “It's more than a _ start.” _ She hops off of his desk and starts wiping some kind of imaginary dirt off of her ass as she glances around his office.

Gold's eyes snap to the bunched denim at the junction of her cheeks and thighs, and the curve of her slightly exposed bottom. If only he could touch her there, dip his fingers in and feel her heat. Make her moan and beg for him.

Instead, he just knocks back the rest of his whiskey, his eyes still glued to her rear as she steps away to inspect whatever trinket has caught her attention this time.

It’s a necklace. She approaches his work bench and tosses him a tentative look over her shoulder before picking it up. The round and Marquise cut diamonds catch the golden light of dusk coming through the window and she smiles.

“...s’nice.” Lacey holds it up to her décolletage and spins around to model it for him. “What do you think?”

_ Beautiful. _

_ Stunning. _

_ Perfect. _

_ Let me help you with that. _

_ Do you want it? It's yours. _

He clears his throat. “And where ever might you wear such a garish thing, Miss French?”

She snorts and sets it back down. “Fuck if I know.”

He huffs out a little laugh and watches as she continues to amble around his office again. She’s peering into a crate of records when her name jumps out of his mouth without his permission. “Lacey?”

She acknowledges him with a, “Yeah?” and continues thumbing through the LPs with interest.

“How are you–” He cuts himself off and swallows hard. “You’re alright? I mean–”

She finally tears away from the record crate and looks at him.  _ “Oh, yeah.”  _ She dismisses, swatting a hand through the air and shaking her head. “I’m uh, I’m fine. I mean, like you said– there’ll um… be time for that.”

“You know… it’s just–”

“I think I’m gonna go now.” She says abruptly.

There’s an uncomfortable stretch of silence and he just blinks at her. “...Right.”

“Later.” She says, spinning on her heels, rushing past the curtain, and out the door.

Mr Gold waits for the sound of her engine revving outside and roaring off into the distance before getting up and pouring himself another drink.

He can finish his bookkeeping tomorrow.


	4. Power

It was a disaster. A feeding frenzy. And Gold enjoyed every glorious second of it. Mayor Mills getting inundated with demands for answers from every news outlet in town. The best part was he didn't even have to do anything. It all just fell right in his damn lap.

He lingers in the lobby of the Town Hall long after the vigilant citizens have left, the press have moved on, and the volunteer staff have packed up. At last, Regina emerges from the set of double doors of the auditorium, fuming.

“Lovely press conference, Madame Mayor.” He congratulates with a little bow.

“What do you want?” She snarls. “Don't you have anyone else's day to ruin? People to extort?”

The corner of his mouth twitches into a smug grin. “I do. ...But none I'm quite so fond of as you, dearie.”

“I'm flattered.” She rolls her eyes as she brushes past him to thrust the front door open.

The harsh sunlight fills the lobby and Gold readies his cane, finding Regina holding the door for him. “Why-- thank you, Mayor” he says, enjoying the gesture a little too much.

She sneaks a glance over her shoulder as she follows him outside. “If there's one thing my mother taught me, it's that the press is always watching.” She mutters. “Heaven forbid I’m caught not holding doors for the elderly.”

He lets the playful insult bounce off of him and smiles. He’s fully aware that his weathered skin, cane, and taste in clothing make him seem older than he really is, and he doesn't mind in the slightest. Makes him come off as more worldly and experienced rather than smarmy. Important traits to have when closing deals under the table.

Regina storms down the sidewalk, heading for her Mercedes, and Gold lags behind, refusing to exert himself too much under the heat of the summer sun.

“It’s a pity, isn’t it?” He calls after her. “I understand Priscilla Madison had a family. Husband, a daughter…” The mayor’s designer pumps continue to click against the sidewalk as she ignores him. He wets his lips before going in for the kill. “If memory serves, I believe the girl actually goes to the same school as your boy Henry.”

Mayor Mills finally stops trying to outpace him and spins around. “What is your point, Gold?”

He slows down and tries to quiet his breaths as he catches up to her. “It just seems as though… no matter what you do, you can’t seem to eradicate Storybrooke’s pesky little crime problem.”

The mayor closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “You’re worse than a used car salesman, you know that?”

He furrows his brows, letting the jab roll off of his shoulders and instead offering a self-satisfied smirk.

“Alright, let’s hear it.” She mutters.

Gold rests both hands on his cane and stands tall, squaring his shoulders before delivering his pitch. “I know you’re not particularly fond of our leather-clad friends here in Storybrooke, Regina.”

She rolls her eyes. “No. I’m not ‘ _particularly fond’_ of the outlaw motorcycle gang running rampant in our town.”

“Motorcycle _club.”_

“I call it as I see it.”

“Very well. I’ll cut to the chase, then.” He says, flashing her a shark-like smile. “I’m sure you’ll remember pushing through a wee bit of legislation last month? Title 5, part–”

“The noise ordinance. What about it?”

“I hope you won’t mind if _I_ call it as I see it, Madame Mayor– but from my perspective, it seems to serve no other purpose than criminalizing the harmless leisure activities of a certain… _demographic_ in our town.”

“Nothing gets past you, does it?” She deadpans.

“Look. I’m sure it’s easier for you to construct a scapegoat out of a bunch of harmless bikers and tell your constituents that crime is over in Storybrooke. But clearly– _in light of recent events–_ you can see that’s not going to work.”

“I know it’s been a while since you did any campaign work, Gold.” Regina says. “But I’m sure you’ll agree when I say that with these people, the illusion of results is just as good as the real thing.”

Gold huffs out a belittling laugh. “Aye. And the discovery of a mutilated body on property _you’re_ helping subsidize is supposed to be which of the two, precisely?”

Regina purses her lips and glances away, avoiding his penetrating stare.

He wets his lips and goes back in before she can form a response. “So you’ve gotten a few noisy motorcycles off of Main Street, Regina– You know what happens next? Your common thieves and delinquents come crawling out of the woodwork because suddenly the streets feel safer to _them,_ too. Looking the other way for the Roses may not be ideal, but when everyone minds their own sheep, Storybrooke PD gets that many more cooperative bodies on the streets when something real happens. Lift that pesky ordinance and I can guarantee that within a week, you'll have no less than a dozen _concerned citizens_ who'd like to assist with the investigation.”

“I know you’re not _seriously_ advocating vigilante justice in Storybrooke.” She warns.

“Not at all.” He says, knitting his brows together. “I’m merely suggesting that it may be advantageous for you to keep a few friends in… low places.”

She shoulders her purse and continues to walk again. Gold sighs and starts after her.

“Do I have to spell it out for you, Madame Mayor?”

“Apparently.”

“Our little town _needs_ the Black Roses.”

She stops again. “Don't kid yourself, Gold. What this town needs is a better law enforcement budget.”

He frowns. “You _really_ want to do that? Bring all the bloody real estate developers in, burn down the forests, raise property taxes, and drive out the very people who make Storybrooke such a charming little town?”

She rolls her eyes and Gold’s grin widens. Decides on a different approach.

“And my– Just think what it would do to small business!” He says with feigned concern, drawing a hand over his heart. “You move forward with all those development plans, you can kiss any chance you have at reelection goodbye!”

“Nolan isn't a threat.” She grits through her teeth.

“That may be so. But while you're sitting in your office finagling over budgets, just remember who holds the real power in this town.”

“Who's that? _You?”_

Gold gives an exaggerated chuckle. “Don't be ridiculous, Regina. I’m just a humble shopkeeper who represents a single vote at council meetings.”

“You’re a crooked attorney who should have been disbarred over a decade ago.”

“Ah, and yet– here I am.” He grins. “Because you see– you need me. Just like your mother did.”

“You know, you two really are just… _perfect_ for each other.” Regina groans.

Gold puts on a scowl. “She didn't seem to think so.”

“That’s because she had bigger goals in mind for herself than controlling this pathetic little shanty town.”

He lifts his gaze up from the sidewalk to take in the various storefronts that line the street for a moment. “Stupid of her, really,” he scoffs. “There's no... _fun_ to be had in state office– It’s a bureaucratic nightmare. You can't get a damned thing done without someone sniffing up your arse.” He explains distastefully. “But a lovely little place like this? Filled with possibilities.”

“It _is.”_ Regina agrees with a practiced PR smile. “Happy families… tucking their children in at night, knowing that they're safe… not having to worry about a bunch of leather clad bikers getting into fights over _turf,_ or who has the bigger guns… I'm going to turn this little shithole around, Gold.”

“Cora used to spew that drivel too, when we first met. But that _also_  turned out to be a load of shite.”

“My mother and I are very different people, Gold.”

“Oh, tell yourself that if it helps.” He dismisses. “At the end of the day, we all want the same things.”

Regina narrows her eyes and tilts her head at him. “You honestly believe that, don't you?”

“I don't _believe_ it. I know it to be true.”

“Well, perhaps it's _how_ we go about getting what we want that matters.”

“No, no.” Gold scoffs. “See… there's the way that _works,_ Regina– and the way that _doesn't._ ” He explains, gesturing decisively with his hand. “Let _me_ pull the strings. You just... _dance_ and reap the rewards.”

She sighs and folds her arms over her chest. “There’s just one thing I don’t understand, Gold.”

“And what’s that?”

“Why do you give a damn about a bunch of bar-brawling, binge-drinking bikers?”

“Oh come on, Regina–” he laughs. “We all have… secondary sources of revenue we’d like to protect.”

“No… I don’t think it’s that simple. My mother served you an opportunity to line your pockets on a silver platter– _a much cleaner one–_ and you refused.”

“Is that what she told you? Though I suppose it shouldn’t come as much of a surprise, after all...” Gold trails off and holds his tongue as the sheriff’s patrol car pulls up to one of the parking meters.

Regina rests a hand on his shoulder and leans into his ear. “Your interest in the Black Roses is much more personal than finances, Gold. And I intend to find out what it is,” she says, giving him a menacing pat on the back.

The door on the patrol car swings open and Gold and Regina watch quietly as a tall blonde climbs out. She starts approaching them with a smile and they exchange a quick look, coming to a swift and silent agreement to act casual.

“Sheriff Swan.” Regina greets with a forced, though adequately convincing smile. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“Aye. Afternoon, sheriff.” Gold nods with far less enthusiasm.

“Madame Mayor. Good to see you.”

“I hope you're settling in nicely.” Regina says. “I know Storybrooke is a small town, but as I'm sure you'll find, it's full of... many charms.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” Emma says, squinting across the sunny street for a moment. She fixes her eyes back on the mayor, and Gold watches as they seem to stare each other down for a moment until Regina breaks and looks away.

“I don't believe we've met,” Emma finally says, shaking her head and extending a hand out to him. “I can't help thinking you must be pretty damned important, if you're out enjoying a leisurely stroll with the mayor.”

He clears his throat and accepts her hand with a firm shake. “Rhys Gold. ...Not important at all.” He assures with a tight-lipped smile. “The mayor and I were just– catching up. I'm an old friend of Regina's _mother,_ actually.”

Emma frowns and tilts her head.

_“Cora Mills.”_ He fills in for her.

“Oh!” She blinks, impressed. “The governor? No kidding.”

“Aye.”

“Small world. Or… state.” She says, furrowing her brows.

“Not too small, I hope.”


End file.
